The Has-Been and the Hot Mess - Isabel Jordan Page 0,6
wrapped around my head like a turban, for some reason.”
That gave her pause. “Huh. That’s a new one. And it does make me feel better, strangely enough.”
“I aim to please.” Then he cleared his throat and added, “I don’t know what Ray’s told you, but that’s all behind me now.”
“Good to know you’re wearing pants.”
Another snort. “I mean I’m clean. No drugs or alcohol for the past fifteen years.”
They finally reached the first floor. He paused, and she could feel him looking down at her, probably waiting for her reaction.
“I’m glad you’re healthy,” she said. “But honestly, I’m not in any position to judge you or your past. We’ve all made mistakes. The difference between famous people and the rest of us is that famous people have to make their mistakes in front of the whole world. That kind of attention is bound to mess people up a little.”
He was quiet for so long she squeezed his arm. “Did I say something wrong? I’m always doing that. I’m afraid you’ll need to get used to the fact that I have no filter between my mouth and my brain. I cuss too much, I talk too much, and I offend people without meaning to. I’d apologize and say it’ll never happen again, but I can assure you, it will.”
“No,” he finally said, sounding surprised. “You didn’t say anything wrong. Just the opposite, actually.”
She smiled and did a little fist pump. “Freakin’ sweet! That almost never happens.”
He chuckled and guided her into another room. “Here we are. Have a seat and I’ll put the coffee on.”
She sat down in what felt like a kitchen chair. “Thanks. Do you happen to have my glasses?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” After a moment, he pressed them into her hand. “Ray handed them to me on his way out or I would’ve left them on the nightstand in your room.”
She held them up and examined the lenses as he turned his back to her to start the coffee. Damn Ray, she thought again, peeling up the corner of her blouse to polish his fat fingerprints off her anti-glare lenses.
“So, Ray says you’re the name in PR in LA.”
She grunted and polished harder. “Well, I was. Now I’m no longer with the same agency, and my name in LA is probably mud.”
“Yeah, he told me that, too.”
Kendall rolled her eyes. “Jesus, why on Earth haven’t you kicked me out of your house yet? Based on what you’ve seen and what you know about me so far, I’m a pill-popper who ends up being carried into prospect meetings with her ass in the air and who sleeps with her boss.”
He got quiet again. Then he said, “He hadn’t mentioned the bit about the boss, but thanks for sharing.”
Kendall face-palmed. “Could this possibly get any worse?”
“In my experience, yes. It can always get worse.”
“An optimist. Great.”
That knee-melting chuckle again. “Look, didn’t you just say we all make mistakes? If you can forgive me my past, I can certainly forgive you yours. I’m not in any position to judge anyone either, darlin’.”
She couldn’t think of a single man in the world who could get away with calling her darling. But for some reason, when he said it, it sounded right. Maybe it was the accent. Or that voice. Could’ve been either, really.
Deciding it was finally time to see who and what she was dealing with here in the middle-of-nowhere, Montana, Kendall slid her glasses on and prepared to take a look at the man who might be her first client as a free agent.
A whole pack of angry butterflies took flight in her stomach, fueled by extreme nerves, which she didn’t understand. She’d worked with all types of celebrities, with every kind of PR crisis anyone could imagine, and she’d handled the shit out of all of it. How bad could this situation—this man—possibly be?
That’s when he sat down across from her, set a mug of coffee in front of her, and leveled a speculative, solemn-eyed stare at her.
And—oh, God—it was so, so much worse than she ever could’ve thought.
He held a hand out to her. “Kendall Quinn, it’s an honor to officially meet you. I’m—”
“Holy fuck balls!” she blurted. “You’re Jackson Hale!”
Chapter 5
At fifteen, Kendall taught herself to masturbate with the assistance of an online medical textbook (the exact location of the clitoris and g-spot is not at all intuitive) and a poster of Jackson Hale.
If she closed her eyes, Kendall could still see that poster.
It had been a close-up shot